


The Empirical Observations of Agent Jemma Simmons

by oriscus



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oriscus/pseuds/oriscus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The marriage of deductive reasoning and keen observation is the hallmark of a true scientist, but lately Jemma Simmons's observations have had very little to do with science and far too much to do with one Agent Ward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Empirical Observations of Agent Jemma Simmons

There are three things that Jemma Simmons perceives upon waking from an impromptu nap in the laboratory:

Observation #1: Agents May and Ward appear to be having an argument below in the dock of a rather private nature.

Observation #2: The click of heels on metal seems to indicate that Agent May is departing up the staircase, rather angrily it seems, as she isn't even bothering to mask the noise of her footsteps.

Observation #3: There's a crick in her neck and spot of drool coagulating at the corner of her mouth. Fitz would kill her if she ended up contaminating the results of his latest studies with saliva.

And Observation #4: Hold on a minute - where is Agent Ward?

"Simmons. I know you're awake."

Ward's voice in her ear instantly jolts Jemma from her position slumped over the table. Her swivel chair bumps against the neighboring desk, disorienting her further. Before she teeters over, Ward's hand shoots out to steady her in her seat.

"Thanks," she says gratefully, and he leans back, an assessing look in his eyes.

Oh. Right. He must (correctly) suspect she had overheard his and Agent May's rather terse discussion regarding the termination of their covert, err, liaisons. Perhaps she could pretend she had really only just woken up?

Jemma tries for a grouchy tone as she pulls up the visor of her goggles to peer at him. "I must say, Agent Ward, you have a very unorthodox way of rousing people from their sleep. Can't say I care for it."

He fixes her with that stare of his that makes her feel as transparent as a hydrozoan crystal jellyfish. Sadly, this Cnidarian transparency is not equivalent to stealthy camoflauge, which would have been bloody useful right now. "How long were you eavesdropping?"

Well, so much for dissimulation. "Eavesdropping is such an unpleasant term," she objects. "And very unprofessional for a Level 5 SHIELD agent such as myself." She then discreetly wipes the side of her mouth. Projecting an air of professionalism, of course.

"And what word would you prefer, Simmons?" There's a slight quirk to the corner of Ward's mouth that he quickly masks with his stern SHIELD agent interrogation tactics face, but it's too late. Seeing it relaxes Jemma and dissipates any nerves she had at being caught.

"It's not eavesdropping if I could hear you from across the room," she says somewhat apologetically. "I really was sleeping at first." And dreaming about winning the Nobel prize, only to find out Fitz's name was on the award instead of hers. Which was rubbish because there's no way Fitz would win a Nobel prize in Physiology. That was his worst subject.  
He folds his arms and takes the chair beside her. "Sorry to have woken you up," Ward says, but his eyes have gone dark in that way that tells Jemma he is thinking of something unpleasant and typically broody.

Jemma doesn't like seeing Ward broody, though ever since he got his hands on that Asgardian staff broody has pretty much been his default setting. She much prefers the Ward that accuses her of cheating at Scrabble, or the one who goads her up a tree to face her fears, infuriating as it had been to realize she had been soundly and so easily manipulated. This Ward seems so far away.

With some hesitation, she tentatively places a few fingers on his arm. "Would you like to talk?" She half expects him to shrug her fingers off and stomp away, declaiming with every step that as the world's manliest man and SHIELD-iest SHIELD operative, he never needs more than two curt and emotionless words at a time to properly sum up each situation (three, should aliens be involved).

However, her assumption is proven wrong when he sighs instead and says, "We were sleeping together. Had been for a while. May ended things."

So she had gathered, listening to them whilst attempting to be as the common bushtail possum and simulate the appearance of death to avoid detection. In a way, it makes sense. The two of them are the most physically superior and compatible of all the agents aboard the Bus. Ward is an astonishing example of masculinity, after all, and no matter how many times Jemma's had to stitch him back up, she still needs to resist the silly little weakness in her knees whenever he removes his shirt.

Still, however open Jemma is to the twists and turns of human biochemistry, it is somewhat unnerving to contemplate the actuality of their relationship. Even Jemma's vast imagination encounters some difficulty at imagining Agent May engaging in any physical activity that doesn't involve someone ending up in the hospital, much less one that expresses affection. Or any kind of emotion, really. What did they talk about? Did they even talk?

He raises an eyebrow at her as the silence lengthens and she realizes she's been drumming her fingers on his arm as she tries to figure out what to say.

"Was she...err, displeased with your performance?"

Belatedly it occurs to her that might not be the most tactful of questions, as her experience of men has taught her that they're generally rather sensitive when their sexual prowess is put to question.

Except Ward laughs suddenly, and it eases something inside Jemma to see him smile. "She wanted to keep things professional. It wasn't," he chuckles, "a matter of performance."

"That's good," Jemma says, leaning forward earnestly. "Really, one couldn't expect less of you, Agent Ward."

His eyebrows draw up as the eyes beneath them regard her with shock. "You know, I think I can safely say that no one has ever had that expectation before."

"Really?" She tilts her head at him. "But isn't it empirically a foregone conclusion? You are, after all, a rather impressively fit specimen, Agent Ward, with a pleasing symmetry to your bone structure and reasonably good skin."

Jemma can't quite believe she's having this discussion, but if he's feeling any doubts about himself after Agent May terminated their relationship, she can't let him carry on like that. She continues: "Given that these are qualities that humans generally find physically appealing in a mate, I have trouble imagining that you've ever had a shortage of partners willing to add to your sexual experiences. And since your personality doesn't allow for half measures in your abilities, it stands to reason that you would have made certain to perfect whatever skills you found essential, even for recreational activities such as coitus."

His ears are reddening, which Jemma finds awfully endearing, but this is probably another sign that she's gone too far again. "In conclusion," she says, injecting as much reassurance into her tone as she could, "you must believe me when I say that depriving herself of your intimate company, both within and beyond the boundaries of a bedroom, is one of the few mistakes Agent May has made."

Ward is quiet for a few moments. "Simmons, are you trying to make me feel better?"

Jemma clasps her hands together. "Is it working? I hope it is, but do you know, I'm actually quite rubbish at this post-breakup consolation business."

"I didn't notice," he responds dryly.

She makes a face. "Perhaps if you could give me a few minutes, I could come up with some sort of uplifting speech or--or a sweet dessert, it would be loads better."

"Peanut butter."

"I'm sorry?"

"If you're proposing to console me with breakup ice cream, we'd better be eating peanut butter ice cream." Ward's grinning at her. Well, that certainly is an improvement Broody Ward or Inscrutable Ward, and every other Ward, really.

"Oh! Yes, I see!" Agent Grant Ward likes peanut butter ice cream? That's strangely adorable. "I've never tried peanut butter ice cream."

"Really? Next time we land, I'll make sure to get some for you."

"I'd like that."

Jemma doesn't know where to take the conversation from here, but it doesn't seem to matter. She smiles at him, and he smiles at her, and they're both smiling at each other until she can't quite remember what all the smiling was about. She can't seem to look away, even though she really should get to labelling the slides in her box for far too long; the disorder gives her a constant, low-grade sense of anxiety.

"I should let you get back to your work," he finally says, getting up from his chair. "Wouldn't want to stand in the way of brilliance."

He thought she was brilliant? Well, of course she was, and had the doctorates to prove it, but--

"Agent Ward," she blurts out. "Um, if you have feelings, or uh thoughts regarding this recent...development, that you need to process aloud to somebody--not that I'm saying you aren't perfectly capable of reasoning things out on your own because of course you are but--" She's certainly making a hash of this, isn't she? She plunks her goggle visor down over her eyes, wishing it could hide all of her away.

"You'll be the first person I look for," Ward finishes her torturous sentence for her. He pauses by the door and flashes her a different kind of smile. "After all, I don't think I can count on anyone else to make me feel better by telling me that they think I'm a sex god."

"What! No, I did not--well, I suppose I might've implied something to that effect, if not in those exact words, but it was meant as an empirical--"

Much to her relief, Ward gently cuts her flustered rambling short. "Thank you, Simmons. I appreciate it."

"A-any time," she murmurs to his retreating back and turns back to her microscope, shoulders hunched. "Sex god," she scoffs under her breath. She selects a slide and attaches it to the stage. "I was clearly just stating deductions from empirical evidence, but he makes it sound like I've been mooning over him like some silly teenager."

Her microscope offers no response, merely making a small hum as she switches on the illuminator. To Jemma's ears, the hum sounds skeptical.

"Well, I wasn't," she proclaims, gripping the focus dial a little too hard. The blurry image refuses to coalesce into a proper sample of an extraterrestrial microorganism. "And never have. It's ridiculous!"

Even the visual enhancing software Fitz programmed into her goggles flashes a regretful denial into her eyeballs.

Jemma growls in frustration and yanks off her goggles. "This is rubbish!"

There's a high-pitched noise of indignation from the lab entrance, and she turns around to see Fitz storming towards her. "Jemma, how dare you?" Fitz snatches the goggles from her. "I'll have you know those optic digital amplification bifocals have extremely sensitive calibrations and will never achieve their full potential if you just bang them around willy nilly like that!" He turns the goggles around in his hands, looking for damage.

"I would never be so careless with laboratory equipment, and you know it," she shoots back. "They're just goggles, Fitz! They couldn't analyze a string of DNA from a ball of twine!"

His nostrils actually flare, making him look like a cherubic bull. "' _Just_ ' goggles, Jemma?" he bellows at her. _"Just goggles?"_

Everything pretty much goes downhill from there.

Stupid Ward.


End file.
